


Between Always and Never

by Leszre



Series: /trænˈsendəns/ [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: AI!_Oliver, AU-SciFi, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: CMBYN one chapter AU-Sci-Fi spin.•a little over 6K words,•Not-beta-ed,•Con-crits welcome!, (I plea thee be ever so kind and gentle.)•Not-at-all planned fic..My Request: though I don’t foresee this from ever happening,please ask meif you, in any way, feel that this drabble is worthy of being shared in any platform other than AO3.





	Between Always and Never

**Author's Note:**

> This, a little over 6K words, single chapter fic came to me three-nights-in-a-row and didn’t let me go whilst I had other constructive grown-up plans for this holiday season. So… I ended up scrapping the obvious “normal” person’s choice and vomited *gesturing all* this. (so pretty please, don’t shoot the messenger, I just tried my very best in transcribing it with my limited ability.)  
> .  
> As with my other fic, this might not be your thing as I tend to spew out unusual interpretations. Even if you don’t like mine, please keep being a valuable fanfam member of CMBYN in AO3. Each and every one of you are important in this fanfamdom world and its continued existence. Grazie!  
> .  
> Again, it’s a bit over 6K words, you have been **warned**. hehehe  
> *quickly running(waddling) away*

####  **Not too distant future | undisclosed location, science lab |**

 

The room is only lit by the bluelights emitted from monitor screens. The biggest one is a clear glass curvature. In front of it, a tall yet lanky guy is standing with his shoulders hunched a little. A man who appears to be about six-foot with natural dark curls, wearing a size-too-big sweatshirt over a distressed jean, is rapidly typing. Flicking virtual objects afloat in the mid-air with his fingers, swiping pages and object boxes illuminated in slight variation of pastel colors as the white codes and scripts in black command screen faintly reflect on his upper body and focused eyes.

/ FILE SENT /

“I wanna be yours,” a low booming voice echoes from the guy’s two o’clock.

The dark curls takes a brief upward glance while finishing up the currently opened session and says, “please don’t repeat that in front of others. They’ll go nuts,” with a singular huff-like snort.

A pause. The room falls quiet, then soon it is only lulled by the low whirring sounds of motors and fans in the room. The hazel eyes then notices something and pauses all his movements. A tempered sigh.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” says the sweatshirt, his face softening with ‘I’m all ears’ expression.

“I want to be yours and I want you to be mine,” says the voice.

The dark curls blinks rapidly for a moment. Then, his hands quickly move and the prompt on the monitor changes as his fingers enter ‘pause’ command. With the short execute, a couple of clicking noises repeat before the room begins to slowly brighten in soft warm glow.

A desk away from where the hazel eyes is standing, there is a figure sitting in a full military “ATTENTION” position, 90 degrees everywhere. The figure’s hands are on its upper legs, just above the knee, gently clasped. Shoulders back, straight upper torso, eyes forward, chin tucked just right. This figure has a military buzz cut.

Two, no, three hastened forced coughs. Then, “Please expound on that reasoning,” the sweatshirt asks with a measured tone, though the enunciation hints that the two are more than professional acquaintances.

The buzz-cut gets up, walks around the desk, and stands in front of the dark curls. Standing face-to-face, the figure is taller than the hazel eyes. The taller one reaches both hands up and takes off the head gear from the hazel eyes. The gear turns itself off, after “OFFLINE” flashes three times. The buzz-cut places it delicately on the desk. Then its eyes shine and all remaining devices give out power-down whirring sounds. The room is now only lit by the soft warm LED lights.

“OLIIVER,” the hazel eyes breathes out the figure's name, with a hint of caution.

OLIIVER ( **O** peration **L** ateral **I** ndividual **I** ntelligence **V** ector **E** ngage **R** econnaissance) gently and carefully runs its palm up the dark curls' forearm. The tension rises between them. His breathing speeds up as noted by the rise and fall of his chest.

OLIIVER’s forefinger traces the outline of his face, barely touching.

The dark curls shuts his eyes and tosses, “amber.”

“No,” OLIIVER whispers low yet firm.

OLIIVER tilts its head and leans down, close to the sweatshirt's lips.

“FREEZE IT,” the hazel eyes spats the command in an urgent tone.

OLIIVER stops completely as its lips presses firm on the hazel eyes' lips.

A tiny click, a soft whirring sound, OLIIVER comes back on-line, not shortly after. As the dark curls is in a motion to step away, OLIIVER pulls him into its embrace and presses its lips further towards the hazel eyes, its motion tilts his head.

A chaste and languid kiss. OLIIVER traces the back of its knuckles on the dark curls cheek bones and lower jaw line.

The hazel eyes' right hand comes up but his fingertips flinch in hesitation, just before his palm softly lands on OLIIVER’s left chest. OLIIVER lets out a low muffled moan at the touch and it deepens its kiss. The dark curls' fingers extend then flex into a loose grasp, bunching up OLIIVER’s government issued top. Two breathe in each other’s exhales desperately as if it is the only thing that keeps them alive. The minute fractal moments that their lips are not in full contact, each chases after the other like their lives depend on it. Mixture of gentle nibbling on each other’s lips, the lower lip first, then the upper lip, the left corner of the mouth, the tip of his tongue, swirling side-by-side, slithering pass, tasting the bottom, tracing the inside of where the roof of the mouth and the teeth meet. Soon, both pant with flushed cheeks with moist, seductively swollen lips.

The dark curls reluctantly begins the motion of his futile attempt to push OLIIVER, but ended with a firm palm press on the AI’s chest, leaning his torso back a little. OLIIVER instinctively chases after his lips and stops him from stepping away, “Elio––,” and its larger palms press insistently against on the hazel eyes' back; one between his shoulder blades, the other just above the small of his back.

Then its voice quivers in a mixture of desperate pleading and in pain, “I’m yours.”

Elio tries to wiggle out of OLIIVER’s hold, “I gave you _that_ prompt option for your safety during your mission–,” softly chides but gets interrupted in mid-sentence as OLIIVER pulls him in close.

As Elio tries again, OLIIVER – this time – steps in close instead, making Elio bump against the edge of the desk. OLIIVER releases one of its arms from Elio’s back and does a wide swipe on the desk, leaning slightly forward. The objects on the desk clatter and land chaotically on the floor, making various noises. Elio’s eyes widen as OLIIVER lifts him up as soon as the surface is cleared and sits him on the desk with a practiced ease.

*

Elio’s two hands grip on the table as OLIIVER thrusts up deep, into him. His own erection rubbing against the AI’s abdomen, tip swollen in translucent pink, leaking. As OLIIVER grits its teeth with a cheeky grin, one of Elio’s hands lets go of the desk, wraps his arm around the back of OLIIVER’s neck. Leaning back, Elio moans low and long as he lets his knees fall farther apart, heels digging into the gluts of the AI’s tighten buttocks, holding his crossed ankles in place.

The AI makes a guttural noise before it bucks its hip up higher, increasing the rhythm. Elio digs the fingernails into the bottom edge of the desk (the other hand that Elio kept his grip) until he finally gives into the speed and wraps it around the back of OLIIVER’s neck. Elio soon ends up interlacing his own fingers as OLIIVER’s erection hits his prostate each and every thrust.

Elio’s mouth falls open and series of light, hushed grunts escape his lips, sounds that are very close to ‘nugh’-s and ‘mnph’-s. Elio’s eyelids are half-mast, fluttering as the sweat beads cling at the edge of his long eyelashes. OLIIVER repositions Elio, lying him on the desk, letting his knees hook over its own shoulder, still undulating its hips. After a firm press of its lips on each side of Elio’s inner thigh, OLIIVER thrusts faster.

“oh, god––.”

“don’t come yet, not just yet.”

A long series of nmgh-s fill the room with damp slapping sounds, as the cedar musk rises from Elio’s skin. Elio’s eyes rolls up and back as he reaches the peak of ecstasy.

“Elio–,” says Elio barely.

“Yesss,” OLIIVER drags ‘s’ like a hiss as one of its hands swiftly takes hold of Elio’s erection and pumps its fisted palm just in the right rhythm, the right speed, “do it, Caro bellissimo, Claim me.”

Elio comes, pulling OLIIVER in with his forearm, kissing deep into its lips, muffling his grunt. A wave after wave of satiety ripple on Elio’s lower abdomen. OLIIVER scoops him up as Elio drapes his whole upper body on it; large sweat beads trickle and draw a long line after another down the length of his back. The AI runs its gently clasped fist slowly, from the base of Elio’s still firm erection to the top and lets him spill out once more. Elio’s body shudders fiercely.

*

The AI, Elio developed for the past eight years, is holding him dearly as if he is the only thing it requires to survive, while Elio is catching his breath from post-climax, his cheek on its collarbone, eyes softly closed. When Elio Perlman was 17, a reply he made on one of the forum questions in the under-fathom web (a.k.a. ur-fab) was the beginning of all this. As usual, the right solution was to get an average sum of compensation. As a home-grown (or self-taught) programmer/coder, Elio often earned his extra spending money through Urfab as it was a great way to test his idiosyncratic programming skills. A few days after the cryptocurrency was posted in his account for that very forum response, two persons from a government showed up at the Perlmans’ Crema vacation villa, of all the places.

Two suited persons explained in a matter-of-fact tone that the “authorities” have been monitoring Elio for a while and the recent reply post was for a secret program, and that the government organization would like to recruit him as a chief writer. Apparently, Elio pieced together an algorithm for an AI to think that it has all five sensory systems, like that of a human being. The team happened to spent countless lab hours and budget to develop minute nerve sensory fibers to be installed in exo-skin but kept failing due to the sensitivity and the lack of coordination.

“It’s like what most economists do. They could plug in risks and factors into their prediction model for GDP but they don’t know the risk and the uncertainty are two very separate entities.”

17 year-old Elio Perlman tersely ended his comparison with the comment in something in lines with, ‘I thought the uncertainty principle was a basic for expert scientists with long acronyms behind their last name.’

*

 

OLIIVER pulls Elio in closer and kisses his hair, finally letting Elio to get dressed, whispers the words like a prayer, “please don’t try to deny it.”

AI OLIIVER can read and sense everything about Elio. Elio programmed it to collect and quantify the data and input in a nano-second; to match, compare, and contrast with the big data in its auxiliary memory.

Hence, Elio’s heart rate, respiratory rate, skin temperature, pupil dilation, hair follicle tension on his forearm, red flush on the back of his neck, increased salivation and countless variables and reactions have been gathered and collated in real time.

“Query.”

“Elio–.”

“Query, OLIIVER.”

“Query,” OLIIVER answers in monotone, meeting its forehead with Elio’s, “Accepted, awaiting prompt,” a small sigh escapes OLIIVER’s gently parted lips.

“Define and justify the most recent interaction with Elio Perlman,” says the dark curls, trying to gain some objectivity, “execute.”

“You know why,” OLIIVER exhales the answer softly, almost beseeching.

“Admin-setting, list,” Elio closes his eyes shut as OLIIVER runs its fingers slowly over Elio’s hand on its chest, “impartiality percentage.”

“80 percent.”

“Increase it to 90 percent.”

“Elio, please–––.”

“Accept admin change on the impartiality percentage to 90 percent. Execute.”

“Prompt accepted. Admin: Elio Perlman. Bio-metric confirmed,” OLIIVER straightens up but still holding Elio’s hand, not letting it go, “impartiality, 90 percent.”

“The most recent query,” Elio breathes determinately without blinking, “re-execute.”

“I love you,” answers OLIIVER.

“Damn it, OLIIVER,” Elio turns his torso, running his now damp palm down on his face with a frustration, “you can’t do this to me,” a single shake of his head, “admin-setting, list, empathy percentage.”

“55 percent.”

“Don’t lie, OLIIVER. Empathy percentage.”

“55 percent.”

“Decrease it to 35 percent.”

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver––.”

“Execute last command entry!”

OLIIVER, instead, pulls Elio’s hand and places it on its chest where the exo-skin glows in translucent rainbow color, “you gave me this, remember?” begs rapturously.

Elio brings in his fingers into a soft clench on OLIIVER’s chest, “empathy, thirty-five per–”

OLIIVER cups Elio’s face and crashes its lips on Elio’s, laying a hungry kiss after another. As if to say, 'if you don’t feel this, how else can I prove it to you?'

Elio tries to pull his lips apart, in vain, letting his heart win his ironclad rationality and sensibility, finally kissing OLIIVER back as he tilts up his head to get closer. OLIIVER encircles its arms and one of its large sturdy hand runs up from Elio’ mid-back, bringing him close. Its fingers carding through Elio's luscious curls; OLIIVER watched and counted every strand as long as it can remember. Its palm cradling the back of Elio’s head, OLIIVER feels that his skull feels more delicate than it had ever imagined. OLIIVER takes Elio’s scent in ardently, as if it never smelled him this close. Elio’s soap, shampoo, aftershave, Italian espresso he had too many today, the remnants of his smoke breaks.

OLIIVER doesn’t want to stop. It wants to categorize every scent, every nuance, every flicker of micro-expression, every shade of emotion Elio has. It hungers for all things Elio Perlman. OLIIVER nibbles the right edge of Elio’s lips and runs the tip of its tongue on the lines that drawn on his upper lip, passing his philtrum. When it reaches the other side, OLIIVER kisses Elio’s left edge of the lips, nibbles its lips along Elio’s sculpted jaw line, up towards where it can whisper into Elio’s ear.

“I don’t have much time.”

Elio’s eyes fly open, in a complete shock.

OLIIVER then presses a very small object in Elio’s palm. When Elio tries to look at what it is, OLIIVER gently squeezes his hand, “this is me. _Your_ me. Everything.”

A short pause. Sudden heaviness drapes over both.

“Oliver––,” the AI breaths out its own name that Elio calls him by, and Elio finally meets OLIIVER’s eyes.

“Hi–,” says the AI quietly as if its eyes are welling with tears.

“hi–,” says Elio holding its gaze.

Elio studies OLIIVER and a tiny flinch shades his eyes.

“parce que c’était lui, parce que c’était moi.”

Elio’s eyes widen.

“I love you, Elio Perlman. And I want you to do it.”

“no, no, no, no, no–,” says Elio shaking his head.

“parce que c’était lui, parce que c’était moi,” OLIIVER squeezes Elio’s hand, “please–.”

*

' _Because it was he, because it was me_ ' is the code for Self-destruction. As if on cue, the curved monitor blinks with a red "CLASSIFIED" message. Elio nods very slowly, putting all the pieces together, understanding everything, and closes his eyes; two tears slowly run down on his cheeks.

“Admin-access,” says OLIIVER, letting go of Elio.

Two meet their eyes as Elio pulls himself away from OLIIVER’s embrace. OLIIVER traces its hand along Elio’s upper arm down to his hand, holding the tips of his fingers, just a bit longer, before letting Elio separate from its hand. Elio wipes his cheeks with a rough swipe of his forearm before reaching for the locket his mother gave him. Then he places the tiny object inside and closes it with a firm press of his thumb, tucking the locket back under his sweatshirt. The dark curls then pulls out a data cable to perform the final download.

“Prep for New Core integration,” says OLIIVER in monotone.

Elio’s head snaps up, wide eyed with a frown between his eyebrows. OLIIVER gives a nod as it closes its eyes. As if to say, ‘it’s okay, we both know this is the only way.’

The hazel eyes' Adam’s apple makes a hard vertical wave as Elio clenches his jaw, bringing his attention back to what he was doing. OLIIVER brings its four fingers together and bends its arm toward its torso. Then after a gentle press on its own left chest, a slot opens forward.

“Admin-command,” says OLIIVER as Elio walks across the room and retrieves a brand new core.

“New prompt entry,” the AI carries on calmly.

A different voice sounds from OLIIVER's head, \ “admin-verification required.” \

Elio is now standing in front of OLIIVER with an object, glowing with the same color as the one sitting on the AI’s open port. The dark curls takes in a determined, audible breath before saying,

“Elio Perlman, CelanInfernoMOL1983.”

\ “second passcode required,” \ replies the monotone voice.

“HeraclitustheHeaven.”

\ “confirmed,” \ the female voice echoes, \ “ready for new entry.” \

“Cor Cordium,” says OLIIVER.

Elio gasps, his eyes visibly quivering.

\ “New entry, ‘Cor Cordium’ confirmed,” \ parrots the mechanic voice.

Elio gives a small smile before he unwraps the new core and almost fumbles with it.

“you okay?”

Elio lets out huff like chuckles in a mixed tone of emotion, “me okay.”

OLIIVER takes the new core from Elio’s trembling hands and gives him an affectionate squeeze. Elio understands what that gesture meant and returns his answer with a slight dip of his head with a clipped exhale.

“You should power dow–”

“No, I want to remember everything,” interrupts OLIIVER.

Elio nods as an answer. Then, he gently presses the inner side of the AI's opened chest slot, and the core lifts a little with a quiet hissing sound. The glow of the opened chest turns orange.

“Don’t ever say you didn’t know,” says OLIIVER with a smile, but its eyes are deeply tinged with sorrow.

Elio shakes his head violently meaning, 'I won't' and 'never,' as the streaks of tears run down on his cheeks.

Holding OLIIVER’s gaze, Elio holds his breath, plucks the core without taking his eyes off of the AI, and the living sign of OLIIVER disappears completely.

A huff of painful exhale escapes Elio’s gaped lips, tears flowing down endlessly. The AI’s fixed gaze is as empty as an abyss. Everything seems to be cold and gloom. Elio gently cups OLIIVER face, a chaste touch.

“Ic lufie Þe”

Then, he wipes his face with his sleeves in one sweep before reaching for the new core.

*

“Ah–––! Our genius! Doctor, General, General, Dr. Perlman.”

A potbelly-ed and a little too much pomade on his hair middle aged man in an ill-fitted-unsavory tan-colored suit approaches Elio, less than two hours later, with an exaggerated face expression with open arms. He enters the room with a false bravado as if he was very familiar with the place.

“You have done an outstanding job with the project. I’m so thrilled to deploy it to the field immediately,” says the five-star general.

“I believe the unit is ready?” asks the bureaucrat.

“Yes,” Elio offers a clipped answer.

“Excellent,” says the plump man in a self-congratulatory tone and hand-signals other uniformed members who happen to walk in.

Elio cautiously approaches the five-star and, “err––, General. Where is the destination?”

The General tilts his head lightly to the side with a ‘you should know better’ look, “doctor, that’s classified.”

“Errm, then. Do you have a plan for decommission?”

“Decommission?” says the General in a sort of ‘hah!’ manner, “it’s not even deployed yet and you are wondering about the decommission?”

“Well, General,” the bureaucrat chimes in with a froggy sing-song voice, “scientist with their inquisitiveness, sir. It comes with the territory. Right, Doctor?” pats Elio’s shoulder pompously while trying and failing to appease the General.

“Rest assured, Doctor. The coalition has its proven method for decommissioning military assets,” counters the five-star with a stern voice as if he was talking to an imbecilic before walking away.

On Elio’s peripheral vision, OLIIVER walks between the uniformed members in standard military march.

*–*–*

 

It has been seven years since that midnight. The blank stare leaving Elio behind.

.

The first time Elio ever heard the news about OLIIVER after that night was in one of the benefit. Having been a chief scientist and main writer for the Defense Coalition, Elio was contracted to serve ten years since the first visit by the suits at Crema. He was in his tux entertaining the elite of their curiosity on the projects he’s been involved without revealing classified information. He had only six months to go and he didn’t have an ounce of feeling on _not_ renewing his contract. Six more months.

Then, Elio’s head turned to the left, with a surprise. _Bach._

And after short notes of Bach’s dedication to his brother, a circle of claps broke out from the same direction.

“Excuse me,” said Elio to the people he was appeasing.

Placing his champagne flute on one of passing-by serving staff's silver tray, while he was putting a rushed step after another towards where the piano was, Elio couldn’t help but reaching for his bow-tie. He urgently wanted to loosen his neck from it. Instead, he clenched his hand and pressed the tie with his fingers.

In an immaculately tailored, satin embroidered white suit, there it was: OLIIVER. Elio couldn’t contain his elation of seeing it after 18 months; he paused in the middle of the crowd and just… admired it. Elio swallowed as if he was trying to regain his composure and began a motion of lifting his foot to take a step to get closer to OLIIVER was when he heard––,

“(what a marvelous creation you are), Mr. Dorian.”

“(no, please just call me Ian)” answered OLIIVER.

“(how delightful,)” said the other patron.

“(isn’t he? Come now, darling. I’m getting tired,)” said the woman in an expensive designer dress, embellished in a similar way, with priceless crystals and silk-thread embroideries, reaching her hand out for OLIIVER to offer its arm for her to hold. And OLIIVER obliged automatically with an impeccable high society manner and etiquette.

Elio stopped dead at his track. It was no longer his OLIIVER. It was now _Ian_ to some rich heiress. The coalition’s proper decommissioning protocol for three trillion-dollar AI was to auction it off to a member of the elite society.

.

 

The next time Elio heard of OLIIVER was while he was teaching at London Royal Academy, a couple of years later, since _Ian_. Elio decided to put everything behind him and moved to UK. He envisioned himself of owning his own lab without the bother of government’s intrusion and the need to beg for funding. As an active contributing member of the AI advocate society, Elio Perlman now has 50 patents world-wide, five pending. He also helped and created the regulations and codes in many developing countries, so they could begin their AI integration in their citizen's everyday life without the beta period as most developed countries did.

One of Dr. Perlman’s students discovered a humane-mission AI module in a rural Scotland and brought it to his attention, attempting to write a dissertation about the unit. Elio recognized him immediately. OLIIVER was wearing suit-of-armor with a RELIEF engraved on its chest, helping out with difficult natural disaster relief missions such as flood, land-slides, etc. Its hair was long and the AI had a full beard, down to its neck. _A proper Scotsman style_ , Elio’s student said jollily. So, with two other graduate students, Elio set out to evaluate the possibility of academic investigation of the said unit.

OLIIVER was wiped clean of its previous “MISSIONS,” though the interview revealed that there were three versions of them. OLIIVER, who introduced itself “Gerald” (in a very Scottish accent), was chipper like any other Scottish man would have been. When its eyes met that of Elio's, it gave a good firm smile. But there was no hint of _Gerald_ recognizing him. After a day and a half stay, Elio disapproved the study due to the polite-enough decline from the relief foundation. Doctor’s students were disappointed but Elio wasn’t.

In the meanwhile, at Elio’s personal lab, he has been trying to integrate the stored consciousness to the new hardware module. His trial went up to 15 with five different blank AI hosts. Something in the femto chip was preventing the integration and Elio couldn’t understand or find why. The frustration grew deeper as his resentment of ever taking on the project OLIIVER from the first place ran high and wide.

.

A couple more years passed, Elio found himself helping out poorly decommissioned AI, by repair volunteering. He went places to find similar older modules on the hopes that he could find an AI host to integrate _his_ OLIIVER. But all was in vain.

On the last trip of his rescue mission, before Elio was scheduled to return to Italy where Pr. Perlman and Annella were spending their content retirement, was where Elio finds OLIIVER.

In the red light district.

*

 

 **Heavily Raining | Slum District**  

Drenching rain continues as if someone heavily inebriated opened up the sky with a high-powered machine gun with the poor aim. Due to the inadequate drainage infrastructure, the water came up to mid-calf and people around the area were slumming and huddling to make ends meet. A dreadful place to live out one’s life; regardless of one being a human or an AI. Barely functioning bots everywhere, carelessly discarded injectable devices, tossed out old parts of machines, floating, half-submerged.

Elio is wearing a disguise, draped himself with a thick jacket, and covered his head with the dark hood, a thick scarf covering every inch of his face but his hazel eyes. He haggles with the owner of the establishment. The Madame tosses a derogatory remark to him. Elio shoots a sharp disgust at her, and she lifts her arm up in defense ‘oh, now now, calm down’ then presses a button to let Elio in.

A mixed moan of several different pitch and tone in various languages echoes the establishment. The key card in Elio’s nervously clasped hand glints purple of its room number. After turning the corner, Elio feels a light vibration. The key card now has a little arrow next to the number. When Elio reached the room, the keycard changed its glow to match the color on the door. He slides it in the vertical slot. Two slow hard clacks.

Elio takes in a deep breath before placing his palm on the door.

“Well, you are one of those, aren’t you?” the familiar voice echoed.

Elio couldn’t believe how much he missed that voice. He involuntarily pauses.

The room is dimly lit. A stark contrast from the general mood of this place where psychedelic neon colors and dizzying strobe flashes to entice carnal desires are absent from this room.

Elio's chest heaves as his lips press together and forms a thin line. As he steps into the room, the color of the room inside changes to the soft warm yellow glow. He couldn’t catch himself quick enough from taking a sharp inhale.

“Would you like me to help with your coat?”

“no, thank you,” answers Elio, pressing his minutely trembling fingers on his hood, and letting it fall back.

“What gorgeous eyes you have.”

A blink.

“They are yours, aren’t they? Nowadays, it’s hard to find a human with their natural eyes.”

“ye–,” Elio briefly clears his throat, “yes, these are mine.”

“May I get close to you? I’d like to see them up close.”

A hard swallow.

“It’s your first time, isn’t it? I can tell.”

The light in the room brightens as the AI gets up, to accommodate the regular field of vision. Elio is now able to take in the room: the structure, the furnishings, the texture, the wall paper…

“May I?”

Elio turns his head back with a start, wondering why he didn’t notice it get this close to him. The AI reaches up and takes off Elio’s scarf around his neck. Then it breathes out a shuddering sigh.

“What a gorgeous neck.”

Elio registers that it was intentionally using that adjective based on the data it collected.

“May I touch?”

Another swallow.

The AI studies Elio carefully in an old fashioned gentlemanly way.

“Command mode.”

“Ah–––,” the AI clicks his tongue bitterly, “you _are_ one of those type.”

It drags the word “those” sarcastically, turning around.

“Command prompt mode,” Elio says it firmly.

An audible inhale, “no, I’m afraid you can’t, darlin’,” says the AI reaching for an inhaler.

“What do you mean?” asks Elio with a scrunch between his eyebrows.

The AI pauses its motion then its shoulder sags a bit, “I mean, no one can.”

A short silence.

“You know I can read you without facing you. Your bio levels are screaming that you don’t believe me.”

An audible irritation leaves the AI in a low grumble. It begrudgingly takes a hit of the inhaler. While witnessing what his OLIIVER has become, all Elio could think is how much he missed OLIIVER’s voice.

A sharp clipped exhale.

Then the AI turns around with a ripping sound, a couple of buttons popping.

“ _No one_ can, because the last programming before me, did this,” says the AI, gently tapping its chest.

On its chest, where there used to be a push-activated portal, there is a heinous mechanical marring - that appeared to be done by 20th century soldering method. It was definitely from a hackneyed job, a recognizable Star of David but a work of backyard-blacksmith,  for sure. Someone must have been on the last strand to resort to such measure. Elio gasps.

“hm, I knew you were that kind even before you entered my room,” the AI smiles grimly.

Because of how Elio designed OLIIVER’s body, such archaic welding probably fused the material to such a degree, making it incredibly hard for anyone to ever getting an access to the core: the compartment where the chip belonged.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you of your little experiment. But it is what it is,” tosses the AI, “so, love. What is your deepest desire?” asks AI crossing its legs, “what does a person such as yourself want and be interest in an old-sexbot like me?”

AI gets up running its hand up from its own lower abdomen to its neck, making Elio’s gaze follow its hand movement. Then it circles its now open hand on its chest and draws a languid line down to its trouser. AI while keeping its eyes on Elio the whole time, snakes its fingers meticulously into its own boxers, in a very intentional manner. Then it tucks its hip upwards as the AI's hand runs on the erection. Elio takes an audible breath. AI pulls out its hand and brings it to its mouth then licks its own palm.

“Admin-mode.”

“Quite the stubborn one,” says the AI stepping closer, “I know how much the Madame charges for me upfront.”

AI is now chest-to-chest with Elio. It ghosts its hands on Elio’s head, around his face, intentionally not touching. Then the AI leans in close and stops just a hair-width away from actually kissing Elio, its breath ghosting over Elio’s skin. It presses the pads of its index and ring finger on Elio’s chest briefly before running a simulated claw of its fingers the length of Elio's torso.

Elio couldn’t bear the AI anymore. Elio absolutely despised seeing it like this. Seeing _him_ , like this. In a split second, AI's large hand takes hold of Elio lower pelvic area and gives a single squeeze.

“Am I offending you?” AI whispers low leaning its forehead as if to meet that of Elio's but slide-passes to Elio’s temple, “hmm?” and takes a whiff of Elio’s hair.

On a desperate whim, Elio blurts out “Cor Cordium.”

AI suddenly freezes. Elio does, too. He didn’t imagine the prompt would work without entering the correct mode or even before opening the directory. He quickly folds up his left arm sleeves where there is an elaborate tattoo, of some sort of code. Elio brings his forearm up to the scanning range. The AI’s pupil focuses with the low humming sound. A familiar female voice echoes, \ “command accepted.” \ Then the AI turned its palm up. Elio takes out a handheld device and plugs the end of the cable into a small port that just opened up right on the heel of AI’s palm.

Looking at the code as fast as he could manage, Elio quickly understands what happened. He then goes through the mess of idiosyncratic codes and removes all the unnecessary ones and takes its system to the core mode. Elio quietly mutters, “please work, please work,” under his breath.

AI comes back on-line in a base default mode. A PR instrumental music starts and Elio quickly presses the screen and the AI skips the product intro. Then, the hazel eyes presses his fore and middle fingers just below the AI's jaw line. A backdoor hardware-access.

“Grazie, Oliver,” says Elio quietly.

Elio then fishes out the locket, by the chain around his neck. A soft pop. His hands are trembling like that night but he manages to place it in the AI's CPU portal.

AI powers down and comes back on after a long while. A series of peripheral boot sequence is accompanied by mechanical whirring, hissing, and clicking sounds.

“Elio––.”

Like that night 7 years ago, tears are running down on Elio’s cheeks.

“hi,” is all Elio manages to say.

“How long has it been?” then he quickly accesses his system.

“I was worried," Elio trembling all over, almost stammering,  "what if it didn’t work? what if they’d mod you too much and would reject–”

The AI shushes him as it did all those years ago with deep adoration and admiration, unable to touch Elio but hovering just above his skin.

“Oliver, may I please...?”

Before the AI finishes its request, he throws his arms around its neck, unable to subdue his sobs.

*

 

**At Elio’s private lab | Crema, Italy**

 

All the money generated by his patents and “post-contract” severance for keeping his mouth shut went into renovating old equine stall/garage gypsies used to use. Getting OLIIVER to Crema wasn’t really difficult. Elio didn’t even have to fake a paperwork as OLIIVER was declared “other” more than three years ago.

“You kept it,” says AI looking up at the ceiling.

Elio simply chuckles. OLIIVER means the net wiring it created for their privacy, seven years ago. A silicone copper alloy compound netting that blocks all frequencies from full range of radio, GPS, cellular signals, all classes of LTEs. This was actually one of the early patents Elio registered, globally.

The modular printing unit gives a loud hiss and the exo-skin is pressed out.

OLIIVER mutters something and takes out his sex-bot attachments, “disgusting thing!”

Elio quickly turns around, as OLIIVER took hold of such part with gusto and yank it from its body.

“Would you like me to keep it? Your heart rate just spiked,” asks OLIIVER with a quirk on its lips.

“You are unbelievable,” counters with a red flush running up his neck.

“Are you sure?”

“OLIIVER!!!”

OLIIVER gives out throaty laughs Elio always loved and says, “I think I need to reprogram my humor code. It’s all just jumbles.”

“If I remember correctly, your humor weren’t that different in original code.”

“And who programmed me that way if I may ask?”

“Shut up!”

While OLIIVER busies itself on changing into the new exo-skin, Elio buries himself on getting OLIIVER core prepped and the code cleaning.

Elio jumps a little at the touch.

“Scary cat,” a low rumbled whisper as OLIIVER hands are brushing up on Elio’s upper arm.

Elio takes a breath before turning around. OLIIVER is wearing a simple light-blue shirt and a khaki shorts he loved. His skin is a bit more tanned than his original.

_Billowy._

“You don’t like it?” asks the AI.

“no,” he shakes his head gently, “it’s just…”

“You always talked about lying under the Italian Summer Sun in the garden or the beach near your parents’ villa or the Monet’s berm so… .”

“You look great,” he wipes his tears with his finger pad. A few more blinks.

OLIIVER snakes its arms around his waist kissing his temple and neck, whispers, “it can wait.”

Elio leans into OLIIVER’s touch, its embrace, the very thing he missed all these years.

“I’ve missed you,” the AI says quietly into Elio’s ear.

“Liar,” Elio nudges OLIIVER, “I had your core with me the whole time.”

“I’ve missed this,” says OLIIVER peppering kisses, with intension and reverence, “this,” one kiss after another, “this,” remembering everything about Elio, “and this.”

“I’m older now.”

“And?” asks OLIIVER without stopping its kisses as in ‘does it affect me how?’ tone.

“I might not be the one you–”

OLIIVER flashes anger, not at Elio but the fact that he had to be away, and shuts Elio up with a desperate kiss on his lips.

OLIIVER pulls him in close when Elio tries to say something and breathes the word into Elio’s mouth, “just shut up and stop thinking,” and deepens its kiss making Elio dizzy.

Elio finally laxes and allows OLIIVER finally kiss-kiss him, “see? focus on me. On _Us_.”

At that, Elio lets out a muffled moan.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

 

**[Cut for time: deleted scene]**

 

**| | just moments after their first time | |  
**

 

“How…, uhm…, did you enjoy?” asks OLIIVER timidly.

Elio huffs out a satisfied laughs, “enjoy?” long sigh, “I’m still covered in goose bumps, Oliver.”

Yes, Elio was aware that OLIIVER can read his bio-chemical and physiological levels that show degree of his satisfaction down to molecular level. The dark curls understood, though, what OLIIVER meant.

“You were amazing,” adds Elio.

The AI lays a firm kiss on the top of his head.

“So, how long have you been wanting to–?”

“be physically intimate with you?”

Elio nods.

“Since the first hand shake.”

The hazel eyes hums and OLIIVER could tell his cogs are turning.

“No, I didn’t record anything,” OLIIVER voluntarily offers instead.

“That’s creepy,” a playful grimace comes on Elio’s face.

“I’m sorry,” says OLIIVER and starts kissing him, on his jaw, behind his ear, along his neck line.

“Oooo–––, does my physio levels…?”

“mm– hm–”

“Give a guy a break, would yeah?” he says breathing roughly kissing the AI back.

OLIIVER finds its way down to Elio’s lower abdomen.

“Elio–,” murmurs Elio.

“Let me taste you.”

Low slurping sound as OLIIVER lulls its tongue around Elio’s erection. The dark curls moans out his own name, gently writhing.

“…please–––,” he whispers, “I want you inside me.”

The AI synchronizes its rhythm to match that of Elio’s.

“Oh, God–––, please don’t stop, don’t.”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- Ic lufie Þe: Old English for “I love you”  
> \- I beg all of you for forgiveness!: pronoun corrections, apostrophes, and general mistakes straightened. I sawee--(clarification: AI Oliver's pronouns are that of "it.")  
> .  
> After my first so-called ‘for public viewing’ fanfic post, I literally DID NOT (underline, bold, italic, highlight) have any plot or storyline: not even an idea/prompt for CMBYN. Then, *gesturing all* this happened. *grunts & sighs*  
> .  
> The saucy parts are added in, trying to explain the progression of the plot. *naughty, naughty, naughty*  
> Do be a darlin' and let me know if this fic needs a rating jump! :)  
> .  
> *-*-*  
>  **[Special Thanks To]** :(I’ve decided to create my “own” tradition, *kuh hmm, so sue me* in alphabetic order–––)
> 
> AliceHargreaves,  
> Angela1983,  
> ArchangelDemon,  
> bluemelody_96,  
> Chrisaki,  
> Debmont8686,  
> Glam_PT,  
> KaliReeseLove,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> krazysquare_xxiii,  
> lost_evenings,  
> Lyra56,  
> mariun,  
> morningrise,  
> odd87,  
> PerpetualStorm,  
> quima,  
> redenodersterben,  
> saibowtie (camydi),  
> SteadyLittleSoldier,  
> VesperCat,  
> +  
> anons who sent kudos,  
> all who clicked and read.  
> .  
> \Thank you/ for your interest and time.  
> .  
>  **as of May 1st, 2019**  
>  if you'd like to drop a suggestion or have a question about any of my drabbles (i.e. clarification, background, etc.), please click [Request/Q&A page](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18658678) and post your comment. ;)


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